Don't Cry because it's Over Smile because it Happened
by Loony Luna Fan
Summary: A few years into their marriage, Ginny is ready to have a child. She's retired from the Harpies and writing for The Prophet, but there is a familiar face at the office and, although initially irritating, there's something about him that she can't ignore, despite Harry's demands to stay away from him. GW/HP, GW/BZ
1. Prologue: The Wedding

**Full Summary:** A few years into their marriage, Ginny has restructured her life and is ready to have a child. Now retired from the Harpies and writing for _The Prophet_ , she's ready for the little miracle of conception. But there is a familiar face at the office and, although initially irritating, there's something about him that she can't ignore, despite her husband's demands to stay away from him.

 **Disclaimer:** None of the following characters or locations are mine in any way, nor am I using them to gain prophet. I'm not affiliated with Warner Bros, Scholastic, etc. Also, the line "Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened" is from Dr. Seuss.

 **Author's Note:** This story was originally written as a gift in the 2013 Porn in the Sun Fest on LJ. My giftee gave me a few incredible prompts, one of which included an affair. If this is not your thing, I totally understand. Please no hate. I will say the story is based on emotion and affection, and there is NO character-bashing. Without further ado….

Prologue: The Wedding

The Weasley lawn had an unusually tidy feel to it. From the recently de-gnomed garden up to the paddock where dozens of Quidditch games have been held stretched rows of identical white folding chairs. Hundreds of witches and wizards had gathered, from the highest ranking Ministry officials to Arabella Figg, the kind old squib that had lived just down the street from where Harry grew up. They all held in their hands ivory wedding programs with gold lettering that were being used to fan away the hot August air from their perspiring faces.

The Marriage Celebration of

Ginevra Molly Weasley

And

Harry James Potter

The 20th day of August, 2000

From her childhood room, Ginny peeked through the curtains, smiling at the large number of people that had been able to attend, though focused on the patch of dark, messy hair amidst the several specks of red hair that she knew to belong to some of her brothers. Taking a steadying breath, she pulled herself away.

"Ready, dear?" Arthur Weasley, almost completely bald and with a few grey hairs, was standing in the doorway. His hands were folded together before him and he looked more steady and cheerful than any memory the young woman had of him.

"I am," she told him confidently, walking over to her bed to grab the bouquet. Despite the urgings of her sister in law, Harry and Ginny had decided on red and gold for their colours. White calla lilies with glittering gold edges sat a little higher than the red and white roses. Ginny might have gone without the flowers all together if Hermione hadn't insisted she would want something to do with her free hand while walking.

The trip down stairs took no time at all, and Arthur was reaching a hand out for the doorknob. Ginny threaded her right arm through his left and took another breath. "Hopefully Mum doesn't cry too much," she said, forcing a smile upon herself.

"It's a big day for her too," Arthur reminded her. "Our youngest and only daughter." He paused for a moment, just to look at her face. "Hold tight then; I only get to do this once, and I can't have you falling." They both laughed and then the door was opened. The red-headed beauty and her father made their way between the numerous rows; the enchanted piano that had been offered as a gift during the wedding preparations kept their feet moving forward.

Everyone stood as the music drifted through the crowd. There were several gasps and even a few sobs, though the loudest of all came from Molly Weasley, seated so far up that Ginny couldn't make her out yet as the aisle seemed to stretch some miles. Over a thousand witches and wizards had wanted to attend the infamous wedding, but Harry and Ginny had managed to narrow it down to a few hundred. iHarry/I… He was up there, waiting for her.

Ginny felt the need to speed the walk up to a run, but she steadied herself on her father's arm and gripped the bouquet a little harder instead. There were cameras and women pointing out her dress, but she could only keep her eyes forward. His jet black hair shone in the sunlight, a stark contrast to Ron and George's red at his side. Her bridesmaids, Hermione and Luna, were already waiting on the left. They were all smiling widely, but it was Harry's smile that drew her in, urging her feet to move faster.

At long last, the song ended and their feet stopped. Ginny kissed her father's cheek before he handed her to Harry. Their hands touching soothed her, reminded her to breathe. Where had her bouquet gone? Had she already given it to Hermione? It was hard for her to focus. She could hear the wind in the trees and the hum of the bugs in the orchard, but she could hardly make out the words the preacher standing on her left was saying. She repeated after him dutifully, but only after watching Harry. She made her vows and exchanged the ring, but only because Harry did it first. The man introduced them as husband and wife, and they kissed. Finally, she was Harry's.


	2. Chapter 1: Home Alone

Chapter 1: Home Alone

The house was quiet. A light breeze wafted through the half open window, making the curtain hem dance. Ginny sat on a comfortable sofa scanning _The Prophet_. She was disgruntled yet again at the poor job being done by the so-called reporters. Her thumb covered a particular column until she had finished the rest of the pages, most of which was a regurgitation of the previous day's garbage. "Dr. Medusa", as it was named, took up only a quarter of page twenty; however it was the most commanding piece any day of the week.

Though she knew no one to be around – Harry was at work for another fifteen minutes and no one else lived in their quaint home – Ginny cast a quick look about her before delving in to the romance and advice column. There was nothing wrong with a grown woman reading about other people's love lives and bedroom questions, but she always felt a little mischievous when she did. Calmed by the quiet of her home, she sank a little deeper into the couch cushions and began to read.

 _Dr. Medusa,_

 _My witch and I spent a weekend on vacation to celebrate three years of dating about three months ago. While she went to powder her nose, another woman and I struck up a conversation. This woman was beautiful and funny, and it seemed like our time together was cut very short by the return of my girlfriend. We had a fabulous time for the rest of the trip, my girl and I, but what was almost as soon as we returned home, the new woman I began exchanging owls._

 _At first it seemed so simple. "How was your day?" "Come across anyone angry at the office?" "Did you hear about the Quidditch game last weekend?" It was like catching up with an old friend. But then we started sharing personal stories, and now I feel like I have to hide what I'm writing from my girlfriend. I know she wouldn't really approve of where our friendship is going, but I don't want to hurt her._

 _This other woman though, she's gorgeous and she's fun and exciting. She even said she would like to Apparate to town soon to spend more time with me. Should I go see her? Should I call it quits with my lady if I'm so easily distracted by another woman?_

 _A man with no plan_

Ginny pulled the paper down and scoffed. The nerve of some men! She thought of a few choice words she would have with this pathetic fool if she ever met him as her eyes continued down the page.

 _ **Mr. Man,**_

 _ **You don't really deserve that title right now, but my editors won't let me call you anything more fitting. My advice: Grow up. You've admitted to having a long relationship with what can only be assumed is a great girl only to get whiplash watching another walk by. I am not one to tell a bloke he can't look, but you've surpassed staring and moved on to ogling, all the while ignoring the woman you spent the last three years with.**_

 _ **You said your witch isn't fun and exciting anymore. Could it because you're hunched over a writing desk with one hand down your pants? Of course this vacation woman is fun and exciting: all you know about her is what she's told you in letters! I promise, she has the same problems that come with all women (again, that's as far as I'm allowed to go on that particular subject).**_

 _ **Tell ya what, if you and your girlfriend are actually having a rough spot, go talk to her. Don't leave her in the dark while you're trying to solve it by meeting up with another woman; it will end badly. Like you said, you don't want to hurt her. Ignore the mystery woman for a bit; don't go to meet her until you have your love life straightened out. You owe her that.**_

 _ **Dr. Medusa**_

There were a few others, but the question paragraphs were short and one was a reprint from a week ago. Ginny sighed and folded the pages, setting the newsprint down on the coffee table for Harry to read that evening. Scooting down even further so that she was lying flat, she stared at the ceiling silently, one arm draped over her forehead.

More than once she had thought of writing in to the doctor. It was anonymous; no one would ever have to know. She didn't have any burning questions about spicing up the bedroom atmosphere or rekindling a faded spark. She and Harry were as friendly toward one another as had always been, and their bed was frequently in use. She smirked and pulled the arm across her face down so that her fingertips barely grazed over her stomach.

What she needed was a real doctor, but she was unwilling to go to a Healer. She was unwilling to admit to herself or to anyone else that despite their best efforts, Ginny was unable to get pregnant. They had used protection up until the end of Ginny's last season with the Holyhead Harpies. The first few weeks of the offseason consisted of shagging all over their house, rechristening every room and surface they could find. Even with their frequent copulating, she remained without a child.

What would she say to the doctor? Her brown eyes glanced to the side at the paper. _Dear Dr. Medusa… My husband and I seem unable to have kids. Beyond the basic biology of the matter, what are we missing?_ It would take days for her to adequately explain all of what she wanted to say, potentially taking up all of page 20 and then some. How could she explain her sadness, her shame? A Weasley that can't have children? No future Potters in the wizarding world…


	3. Chapter 2: Slight Irritation

Chapter 2: Slight Irritation

There was the sound of a light crack a split second before the front door handle began turning. Ginny was on her feet before Harry had stepped across the threshold. In three quick strides she was up against him, arms thrown about his neck. He kissed her forehead quickly before side-stepping her and peeling his cloak off.

"How was your day?" She asked, following him toward the kitchen. He rummaged in the fridge for a moment before extracting leftovers from the night before.

"Like any other," he told her lamely, pulling out his wand to heat up the meal. He took a seat at the dinner table and Ginny walked around behind him. "Smithins is the worst apprentice, I think, that has ever come through the Floo network. All he manages to do is lose important documents. Even Seamus didn't light half as many things on fire." He took a big bite of potato while Ginny's small hands began kneading his shoulders.

"Perhaps it was just a bad day," she offered kindly, bending over and placing a light kiss on his neck.

Harry let out a sigh. "Ginny, please, I appreciate it but I'd just like to eat something for a moment." The red head pursed her lips and folded her arms, but Harry didn't notice. "Besides, it's more like he's had a bad month. I hope they get someone else in there soon. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was trying to help hide the remaining Death Eaters." Harry chuckled lightly at his own joke, but Ginny swung about and made to leave the room.

"Where are you going?" he asked, turning to look when she didn't laugh along.

Ginny stopped suddenly in the doorway and told him without turning back, "I'm going to get ready for tonight."

"We aren't leaving for another three hours!" Harry called after her; she didn't respond. "Women," he muttered, shaking his head and scooping up another bite of his meal.

Down the hallway, Ginny marched determinedly to their shared bathroom. Harry wouldn't need it, not until thirty minutes before they would have to leave. He was hopeless. He had several dress robes that all looked the same, he had the same facial hair (or lack thereof), and his hair was a complete and utter mess despite the best intentions of the Weasley women.

Ginny, on the other hand, allowed for herself a few feminine luxuries, one of which was spending as much time prior to an event relaxing and preparing as she wished. She left the door unlocked and turned on the tap, closing the curtain as steam rose up to fill the room. Shortly after their wedding, Ginny and Harry had spent weeks attending Ministry functions and even a few business openings. Though Harry refused to be anyone's poster boy, he argued that it couldn't hurt to be happy in public now that they weren't being asked to downplay a mass murderer.

Smiling to herself, Ginny slipped out of her clothes and into the slowly filling tub. Muscles in her back relaxed. Tonight was about her though. She reached over the edge of the tub for her wand, adding an overabundance of bubbles to the top of the water. She let the wand clatter to the ground and sank back down, turning off the gushing stream with her foot.

Ginny had left the Harpies almost six months prior and had been itching to get back to work. There wasn't a financial need, Harry made sure of that, yet Ginny couldn't stand being left alone in the house every day. It only took so long to clean and cook, and then what was she to do? Thankfully, the answer had come to her in a matter of weeks. There was an opening ad posted in _The Daily Prophet_. Were it for any other position, she wouldn't have thought twice on it, but the chance to report on one of her favourite subjects was too good to pass up.

Three hours later, Harry was sitting in the front room barely glancing at the newspaper that had been left out for him. The sun was starting to set outside the windows that he had just closed. A light tapping noise alerted him to Ginny coming down the hall. Harry tossed the paper down and moved toward the door.

His wife came around the corner a second later wearing a long, black evening dress. The shiny material went up over her left shoulder, but left the other bare, flowing freely from her waist to the floor. Her red hair was smooth and flat with her long bangs pulled to the back and clipped there.

"You look very handsome, Mr. Potter." Ginny took a step toward him, latching on to the collar of his robes. "Maybe we should just stay in this evening." A coy smile played on her lips as she pressed her body against his.

"Come on, Ginny, we'll have time for that later." Harry took a quick step back and kissed the top of her head. With a hand on the doorknob he reminded her that they were already five minutes late. Huffing slightly, and not really giving a damn about being late, Ginny took a few steps outside the door and held tight to Harry as he spun them around.

They landed outside a large, old building decorated on the outside with columns and dozens of lights. Ginny thought it looked something like Gringotts, with the exception of the inscriptions on the doors. No matter, she and Harry took the short set of stairs to the large double doors, which swung themselves open as they neared. She looked up at him and smiled. "Harry." He turned to her. "I love you."

"Love you too."


	4. Chapter 3: New Prospects

Chapter 3: New Prospects

There was a small entrance hall where several wizards dressed in elegant black and white robes stood at the ready to attend to those arriving. One was helping a couple that had just stepped from the fireplace rid their clothes of soot. Another walked up to Ginny and offered to take her coat. She handed it over before walking with Harry through the next set of doors.

The main chamber was wide with a tall, vaulted ceiling and gothic windows along both sides. Small round tables were set up with six places set on each. A buffet-style table stretched from the door frame to the far wall on either side of them. Colourful plates of appetizers and hor d'oeuvres sat alongside gently flowing fountains of drinks. Ginny thought for a second which drink she would fill a glass with before Harry was approached by an acquaintance from work. Turning her gaze from the treats, Ginny stayed by his side and wandered from one important person to another without saying much to those she didn't know well.

Though the event was hosted by _The Daily Prophet_ and it was meant to mark another successful year, inevitably important people from outside the paper were also invited. Of course, high ranking Ministry officials were on the guest list: Ginny had seen Kinglsey pass by twice already. Formerly such people were there to insure the newspaper was printing the "right people in the right light", as her father had once told her.

There were also a few individuals in attendance that simply seemed to be invited to everything; they came for no other reason than to be seen about. The Malfoy family, for instance, was in attendance, although split apart. Lucius and Narcissa were near a far wall conversing quietly in a small group. Draco and his wife, Astoria, were talking with a dark man in purple robes and a woman he had on his arm that had their backs to Ginny and Harry. Astoria, the red head noted with a pang of guilt, had a hand resting gently on her tastefully accented swollen belly. Ginny turned away sharply and refused to look back in that direction for the remainder of the evening.

The couple enjoyed dinner with two people that worked with Harry in the Auror Department and two of the staff that worked at the papers. Ginny's attention was completely focused on the latter two who were co-writers of the _Good News; Bad News_ articles that appeared on page 2. "There isn't much for me to contribute these days," one of them said. "Thanks to your husband there, the worst news about tends to involve accidental deaths and the complaints of high profiles." Ginny got the distinct impression that this person would have gotten along well with Professor Snape.

The other, a bubbly young woman with short brown hair, made a face at her counterpart and shook her head. "Don't mind her one bit! Certainly the world could use a few years of peace before we need to worry about such dark things again. If readers only buy _The Prophet_ to read about the sadness in the world, they ought to just go skulking around Knockturn Alley for a bit; that'll sap all the happy right out of 'em." She took a sip of her drink before shaking her head again and redirecting the conversation.

After dinner was served, Barnabas Cuffe stepped up to a podium set up in the middle of a small stage that had remained mostly empty up until now. "Good evening to you all and thank you for joining us. Today marks the 125th anniversary of the publication of the first edition of _The Daily Prophet_." There was polite applause before he continued. "As always, we continue to strive for the highest quality representation of the news and information pertaining to our large audience, none of which could be possible without the generous support from our donors and members of the Ministry."

Again there was polite clapping. Those that were among the donors nodded appreciatively in recognition. "I must also thank the hard working individuals that come into work each and every day." Cuffe's voice lowered sentimentally as he progressed. "I have seen many reporters come and go in my time as Chief Editor, and I'm sure you'll all agree that the integrity and strength of our words can come from none other than the very best. It has been another pleasant year, and I wish us all the best in the coming months." A more rambunctious cheer met his kind words and a few tipped their glasses back and drank deeply in agreement.

"I'm sure you are anxious to get on with your evening, so I have just one announcement left." The hall fell silent and Ginny deftly grabbed for Harry's hand. "As strong as the family we have here is, sooner or later, one must leave us. After thirty-five years as the Senior Quidditch Reporter, Thurstan Nichols has decided that it is time to retire. As I understand, he intends to spend the remainder of his time attending Quidditch matches and vacationing with his family. It doesn't sound much different from what he currently does –" The man shrugged his shoulders while his audience chuckled appreciatively. "As it is, we can't have _The Prophet_ without Quidditch articles; there would surely be a riot." He paused yet again to allow for a response. "As such, I would like you all to join me in welcoming the new Senior Quidditch Reporter, former Chaser of the Holyhead Harpies, Ginevra Potter."

Ginny's cheeks flared at being called by her full given name, but she held her head high and smiled while the room broke out into applause once more. Those who hadn't seen her already nudged their neighbours out of the way to get a better view. She chanced a look to her side and saw Harry back in conversation his with co-workers. She put a hand on his arm and squeezed it gently to let him know she was getting up; a few patrons and admirers of the Potters had come over to offer words of advice and encouragement.

Just before the Potters were to leave, Harry made a quick trip to the loo, and Ginny approached one of the long tables, eyeing two platters that held tiny chocolates. She made to reach for the one on the left as another body stepped up beside her. "Just here for a refill," the man said, holding two empty glasses in his hands and nodding to a nearby drink fountain. "As I understand it," he continued, "congratulations are in order, Ginny."

She stopped short of popping the tiny morsel into her mouth and gave the man a hard look over. He was tall, with dark chocolate skin and deep plum robes; he must have been the same man Draco Malfoy had been talking with earlier. But who was he?

"You don't remember me? All those games across the pitch and you've forgotten my face already?" He let out a deep chuckle that helped settle the blush in Ginny's cheeks.

"Zabini," she finally recalled. Suddenly it seemed impossible that she hadn't identified him on the spot. He had the same sturdy frame, the same arrogant posture, the same large lips and eyes she had caught once or twice across the table at a Slug Club dinner. "Thank you," she finally said, taking a step away from him and casting a quick glance around for Harry. "I expect I'll be enjoying the position immensely."

Blaise had finished filling one glass and tilted the other under the light. "You might. Some days it can be a bit wearing. Cuffe isn't always so cordial when there's a deadline to be met."

The breath in Ginny's lungs held for a moment. In all her days scanning the pages of the paper, especially in the last few weeks since she was told she had the new job, she had never come across the Italian's name. "I wasn't aware you worked there as well."

A knowing and all too Slytherin-like smile crept across his face as he pulled the full glass back toward his body. "I'll see you in the office." Without further ado, he turned away from the red head and wandered back through the crowd of wizards. Ginny thought briefly of following him, but Harry appeared at her side before she could take a step.

"Shall we be off then?" he asked, already slowly making his way toward the door. "Did you have a good time?" Ginny nodded, trying to focus more on the tasty chocolate treat she had just popped into her mouth than the one that had left her standing mouth half-agape.


	5. Chapter 4: Settling In

Chapter 4: Settling In

"Just this way, Mrs. Potter. Your desk is the empty one at the end there." An excitable intern pointed to the only empty desk on the floor and carefully treaded behind Ginny as she carried a small box in her hand. "Can I get you anything?" He offered. "We have coffee, tea, water, and other refreshments in the lounge."

Ginny held up her hand and waved him off. "No, thank you. I should be fine on my own. What was your name again?" She turned her sharp eyes on him and watched as he puffed his chest up proudly.

"Claudis Akins, ma'am." He blushed when Ginny smiled at him and stayed an extra half second to watch as she unpacked her belongings. She tapped each gently with her wand, returning them to proper size. On the back corner she lined up Quidditch Through the Ages, a biography of Kennilworthy Whisp, and a number of other titles she had collected during her time as a professional player. On the other corner, she carefully organized a few of her favourite photographs: one of her and Harry from their wedding, one of her and her whole family in Egypt, and one of the Harpies team, sweating and smiling, after a close victory over the Fitchburg Finches.

Taking a seat, Ginny reached for the one of her and her siblings. She cherished this particular photograph, the only one she had that showed her family as she would always remember it: happy, together, complete. She looked at Bill's smooth face, George's identical ears, and Fred. Before allowing herself to cry, she carefully put the frame down in its newly designated place. _You can't change the past_ she reminded herself calmly.

"All settled in there, Weasley?" Ginny's eyes flared as she looked about. Perched just behind her desk and looking down at her belongings was Blaise Zabini. His hands rested loosely in his pockets while the rest of his body stood tall and rigid.

"It's Potter now, Zabini," she reminded him, steeling her emotions fully after the brief respite.

"Old habits," he offered. "Besides, the flaming red hair is rather misleading."

Before he had a chance to catch a spare strand in his fingers, Ginny stood to face him head on. "And I suppose this is misleading as well." She raised her left hand as though to strike him, but held it still between their bodies. Her wedding band set with a dozens of differently sized diamonds sparkled even in the lacklustre glow of the office lights. It wasn't overly large, with many small diamonds on the sides, but the same thought ran through both of their minds: No one in the Weasley family could afford something so exquisite.

"Right, my mistake." His voice was deep and his eyes held hers, unwilling to show a hint of embarrassment even after being called out. A tense moment passed before Zabini took up his previous cheerful tone. "I suppose you'll be working through lunch then? Either you're desperately bored or you're trying to impress someone." His eyes flickered to his left and Ginny saw Claudis with her fine-tuned peripheral vision. "I wouldn't put in too much effort on his account; he looks like he'd be willing to be your footrest already."

Ginny rolled her eyes and sighed impatiently. "And I am to assume you have fantastic plans for your afternoon meal that will drag you from your desk?"

"Hardly dragging. I have a date. Do you remember what those are? I know married couples don't get out much." Blaise's lips curved into a half smirk as a muscle near Ginny's eye twitched. "She's rather good looking," he went on. "Did you happen to see the woman I was with at the event the other night? It's her sister; a better looking one."

Not at all sure why he was telling her any of this, Ginny quickly scanned the area around her for something to busy herself with. As if sent from Heaven above, the intern was rushing over with an envelope held high, waving it back and forth. "Well, don't let me detain you," she told Blaise as Claudis called out her name and announced that the post was for her. "Enjoy your date."

Without waiting for a response, Ginny closed the gap between herself and the intern, quickly snatching the envelope from his hands and pulling out a ticket to the upcoming non-conference match between the Ballycastle Bats and the Wimborne Wasps. Smiling widely, she thanked the boy and turned back to her desk to pull out her calendar.

Blaise had silently left in the few seconds it took for her to retrieve the ticket, which Ginny was all too happy about. If he was going to be hovering around her or constantly picking at her every move, there would be many complaints to Cuffe. The new Quidditch reporter shouldn't have to deal with such distractions from the… It was then that Ginny recalled that she still had no idea what Blaise actually did at _The Prophet_.

Attempting to look inconspicuous, Ginny slid away from her desk and pretended to look about the room. She passed one desk after another, some with reporters clacking away on their machines while others were devoid of a writer. None of the brass plates on the corners held the name Zabini. Not one to be so easily conquered, she rounded the corner of the last desk and let her arm fall to her side. Her fingers scooped up a copy of the day's paper and she was back in her chair in less than five seconds.

With more diligence than usual, Ginny scanned through every page. Below every title and again at the end of articles she searched for an italicized "B. Zabini", but he was completely absent. Narrowing her eyes both at the realization that she was being defeated and that she was wasting her time over something whole heartedly unnecessary, Ginny folded up the paper and set it to the side. The next time she saw Blaise she would just ask him what he wrote, if she even cared enough to remember. _Which I probably won't_ she thought firmly.


	6. Chapter 5: Lunch at the Burrow

Chapter 5: Lunch at the Burrow

Over the next week Blaise stopped by Ginny's desk at random. Sometimes she was in the mood to entertain him, other times she quickly found something to distract herself. He never stayed long, dropping in just long enough to ask her how she was handling her number one fan, the intern, or to comment on the article she had written.

"Not a bad job, Ginny," he complimented, leaning against the empty desk to the right of hers. "You really painted a picture. It's almost as if I was actually there."

Ginny rolled her eyes and let out a sigh of frustration. "That's because you were there. I saw you sitting in the… Hang on." She spun in her chair and looked at him through squinted eyelids. "Why did you call me that?"

"Because it's your name, and," he quickly added as she opened her mouth to retort, "you won't let me call you Weasley,"

"Because it isn't my last name anymore,"

"It's rude to interrupt." Ginny made a face but stayed quiet, crossing her arms and legs. "As I was saying, you won't let me call you Weasley. There is only one person I call Potter, and he doesn't work here. You've left me with no other option, unless you also find fault in me calling you by your given name like a civilized adult."

Now that he was finished, Ginny didn't have anything to say. She found she neither liked nor had an argument against him calling her Ginny, other than it sounded very strange. And what about the "civilized adult" jab? Was he expecting her to call him Blaise?

She was saved from making a decision when her watch went off. It was fifteen minutes to noon; Ginny was going to the Burrow for the Weasley family Sunday lunch. "Must be off," she muttered quickly, gathering her wand and picking up the Sunday paper that held the article on the game Blaise had mentioned. "Thanks, by the way."

Blaise only nodded and watched with a blank face as she walked toward the front door.

"You all right there, Fluer?" Ginny asked as her sister-in-law attempted to fit into the chair next to her with a very bloated belly. The scene was almost comical enough to make her forget why it made her sad, yet she reached for Harry's hand out of habit.

"Yes," the blonde witch huffed, finally getting herself sorted out. "Eet waz a bit eezier with Victoire; she wazent so fussy at meal times." Everyone at the table laughed, especially the small three-year old that sat between Bill and Fluer, excited about hearing her name.

The food floated in large bowls to the table and everyone began digging in. Ron, surprisingly, was the first to speak up. "So Ginny, how is it then, working for _The Prophet_?" Everyone at the table knew that his actual question was "How does it feel to be paid to watch and write about my favourite thing in the world?"

"We read your article this morning," Hermione piped up. "I thought you did an excellent job explaining it all; even I understood it." Everyone laughed again, but Ron was still intent on getting his answer. He hadn't taken a bite of food since posing his question.

Taking a drink of water, Ginny thought on it a moment. "There isn't a thing wrong with it; it's the greatest job I can imagine for myself. I have my own desk. The people are friendly." Immediately Claudis came to mind and she quickly moved on. "And I'm given a ticket to all of the games I report on, which makes sense if you think about it."

"Of course it does," Ron said enthusiastically, grabbing a chicken leg. "We should all get tickets; we are family after all." When no one seemed to agree, he continued to argue his point. Eventually Harry cut him off.

"Ron, I completely agree, but they don't even give her one for me, and I married her." Harry squeezed her knee affectionately as she had pulled her hand away to eat.

"As if any Quidditch team would turn down giving you season passes if you asked, Harry," Ginny countered, smiling at him before taking another spoonful of soup. "Besides, I'm there to watch the game and write a report. You lot would be so distracting I'd never get any work done." Everyone nodded in agreement.

Quiet moments passed, punctuated by the scrapping of utensils on plates and Fluer assisting her daughter in eating without making too much mess, when suddenly Hermione asked, "Is there anyone working at _The Prophet_ that we know, Ginny?" No one else paid any mind to the question.

"Yes actually. Blaise Zabini. I'm not entirely sure what he does." She was reminded of the fact that she had yet again forgotten to ask. "But he and I have chatted a bit at work. He even –" She stopped suddenly, realizing she probably didn't want to finish the sentence as she started, which was to comment on him being at the game the day before. Clearing her throat, she picked up where she'd left off. "He even commented on my article this morning."

While Hermione seemed entirely unfazed by the fact that a former Slytherin was frequently in close proximity to Ginny, both Harry and Ron actually stopped eating to state their opinions on the matter.

"You really shouldn't spend any time with –"

" – a complete git from Slytherin."

Ginny gave them hard looks until both men resumed their meal. The subject was dropped, however, until Harry and Ginny were back in their personal living room.

"I meant what I said, you know, about Zabini." Harry stood with his arms crossed near the middle of the room. Ginny shook her head and laughed, but he kept on. "I'm serious, Ginny. You should see if you can be transferred to another building or just work from home. He isn't a good bloke to be around."

All of the light heartedness fled from Ginny's countenance as he said so. "You're being ridiculous and making something out of nothing. All I said was that he works there and we've chatted–"

"And that he has come by to compliment your work. What's next? Is he going to take you out to lunch?"

"Harry Potter, are you jealous?" The slight giggle in her voice only served to irritate the man.

"I'm not jealous, but he has no right to be chatting you up in your office! He's a lousy, no-good friend of Draco Malfoy, who was all but a Death Eater himself, and I don't want him around my wife. You shouldn't even talk to him anymore! Just ignore him the next time he comes up to you or tell him to shove off." Harry's chest rose and fell sharply in his agitation, but he looked positively calm across from Ginny, whose fists were doubled up and whose eyes were glaring harshly.

"Blaise Zabini is a perfectly fine person that shouldn't be under your scrutiny just for existing. You have no right to be passing judgement on someone you don't know at all, maybe never even talked to!" She couldn't recall a time in her life where Harry even mentioned bumping into his old classmate. "Furthermore, I like my job and I don't care if Malfoy himself or anyone else you don't like walks through the door, I am going to continue working _there_." She couldn't stand the thought of being cooped up all day in their silent home; that was half the reason she went to work.

Practically seething, Harry turned around and headed for the door. Rather than ask, Ginny stayed quiet. Just before he shut the door, Harry muttered, "Going to Ron's."

 _Good_ , Ginny thought. _Go share your Slytherin conspiracy theories with him!_ Pulling out the paper she had taken to the Burrow, the red head settled into the couch and flipped to her favourite article. Perhaps other people were having similar, stupid arguments with their immature husbands. Sadly, the Dr. Medusa column was instead concerned with controlling your wand when it's set to vibrate and contraceptive potions. Ginny scoffed at the last one and then sighed; she doubted she would ever need one of those again.


	7. Chapter 6: Since it is About You

Chapter 6: Since it is About You

What Harry said the night before bothered Ginny throughout their morning routine and followed her to the office. She forgot to open a window to let the morning owl in, she sent a spell too forcefully at the coffee pot and sent scalding liquid all over the counter, and she tripped over the threshold of the front door walking into work.

"Are you all right, Mrs. Potter?" The intern asked. She waved him off, insisting she was fine, and made her way to her desk. What right had he to tell her who was or was not a good person or who could be trusted? Hadn't it been he who blindly followed the words written in Snape's old potions book? One even turned out to be dangerous. And there was the fiasco of believing Kreature and flying off to the Ministry the year before. He was eventually right about Malfoy, but it took six solid years of pointing a finger for any of it to be actualized. If anybody lacked intuition when it came to telling a good bloke from a bad one, it was her _dear_ husband. What basis did he have to come after Blaise like that anyway? It wasn't as if-

"Whoa. Easy there, Ginny."

-Speak of the Devil. The dark Italian had stopped just behind her chair. Lost in her spiraling frustration, she had slammed so hard on the typewriter that the typebar that held the "r" key was actually lodged in the page on the platen. "I'm sure it's a riveting story you're writing, but you might want to try lightening up on the key strokes. We can only use one side of the page if we punch out the letters like that." His deep chuckle sent a tingle down her spine and made her smile for a half second. Why did it have to be him?

"Now really isn't a good time, Blaise," Ginny said with a sigh. She leaned forward and pulled the parchment free of the machine. Looking it over, she noticed three glaring spelling mistakes, one being her own name. It was utterly worthless, but she took some small pleasure in the noise it made as her hands compacted it into a ball that she chucked into the waste bin.

"Why not?"

Was he still standing there? Her mind paused. "Why not what?"

Blaise pulled an empty seat over and sat down beside her. "Why is now not a good time?" He asked slowly lest she forget the string of conversation again. His large hands rested loosely on his thighs, but he remained erect and professional.

"It just isn't." Tilting her head just enough to look over at him, Ginny narrowed her eyes. "What does it matter to you anyway?" She turned back to her typewriter to test the other keys, making sure she hadn't damaged any. Her breathing hitched when one of his hands ever so lightly pressed on the top of her left one, stilling her work. "What are you doing?" she hissed, glaring over at him while pulling her hands back. She crossed her arms to keep them tucked in and out of his reach.

"Stop avoiding the question," Blaise quietly commanded. In a moment, his demeanor shifted to something a little softer. "People tell me they find talking with me to be very therapeutic at times. Why don't you give it a try?"

The hair on Ginny's arms rose up, her body suddenly struck with the tingling sensation of adrenaline; she was afraid. _Stop it!_ She told herself, realizing why she was responding the way she was, unconsciously suspicious of his motives, distrustful of his offer. It was entirely hypocritical considering the monologue she had running through her mind all morning.

"I suppose," she started, quickly scanning the room for any eavesdroppers, "since it is about you and all…"

Her pause was long enough for him to ask, "And what have I done this time?" He may not have realized it, but Blaise had leaned ever so slightly forward at her admission and small giggle that followed his question.

"Nothing!" She blurted out quickly. "That's why it's so idiotic. Harry found out last night that you work here and he went half mental saying what a slimy git you are." She felt a bit of relief and pressed on, telling Blaise how she had defended him and how Harry went on until he finally said she shouldn't even talk to her co-worker anymore. "It's completely unfair of him to assume anything about you or tell me what to do," she finished, slumping against the chair, finally out of gusto.

Her counterpart sat quietly for a moment and Ginny wondered if she had possibly shared too much. She opened her mouth to apologize, but he beat her to it. "I'm sorry if I have made you or Potter uncomfortable in any way." She wanted to cut in and tell him he had it all wrong, but he pressed on. "If you think it would be best for your relationship, I can give you space and not talk with you at work anymore."

He made the offer so she wouldn't have to ask for it, but Ginny knew that wasn't what she wanted, even if it may have been the easiest route. Shaking her head, she scoffed. "I love Harry, Blaise, I do. But he doesn't have any right to control me and the time I spend with the people I want."

"So you want me?" Something in his voice and the smirk that played with the corners of his swollen lips caused Ginny's face to flush pink.

"That wasn't exactly what I meant." How had he turned something so serious into something… flirtatious?

"What a shame," he said as he stood and returned the borrowed chair. "I'm glad to see you're feeling better though."

Ginny paused, uncertain of what to say next. She managed to utter a "thank you" before a blonde woman wearing a low V-neck dress came around the desk at the end of the row.

"There you are, Blaise," she said, stepping up and grabbing him by the arm. She started leading them toward the front door. Ginny caught fragments of her haughty sentences. "Been looking for you… ten minutes late… reservations."

A small feeling of triumph bubbled inside Ginny at the thought that she had been the one to distract Blaise enough to make him late. And, if she were to judge based on the pained look that crossed his face when the witch called his name, he wasn't at all sorry to keep her waiting.

She stopped herself there. It wasn't any of her business when it came to the women in his life. Furthermore, she shouldn't give a damn that he had picked her to talk to, and it shouldn't make her feel anything, least of all smug.

As far as Ginny could tell, Blaise didn't return to the office for the rest of the day. She told herself she wasn't disappointed, but couldn't help looking up whenever the front door opened or someone passed near her desk.

Just before Apparating home, she took a quick trip to the loo. Upon her return, she found an envelope with her name on it lying on her desk. Inside was a regular looking piece of parchment that had the words _For when you feel like talking – B.Z._ at the top.

She turned the page over, but there were no other words or instructions. She folded it back up, stuck it in the envelope, and put it in the top desk drawer. She would ask him about it tomorrow.


	8. Chapter 7: Falcons vs Tornados

Chapter 7: Falcons vs. Tornados

The mysterious paper remained just that over the next week. Despite Ginny's inquisitiveness regarding the page, Blaise was inexplicably absent. He wasn't at any of the desks she passed on her many trips to the bathroom, nor did he spontaneously appear at her desk around lunch time.

Once or twice she pulled the envelope out and opened the page, but it looked just like before. Deep in her gut she had a sickening suspicion she knew what she was supposed to do, but it would be a sunny day in the vaults of Gringotts before she started writing to anyone instantly via parchment, least of all without further explanation.

Of course, Blaise didn't know; he couldn't have any idea of her side of what had happened her first year at Hogwarts. More skeptical than curious, she put the parchment back in its new home in the drawer, but then changed her mind and slipped it into one of the books on the corner of the desk. If she didn't see it as often, perhaps she would think of it less. That done, she kept on with her piece: the predictions of the following night's match between the Falmouth Falcons and the Tutshill Tornados. Neither team had a reputation for playing completely fair, so Ginny commented on the likelihood of frequent fouls but with the ultimate win going to the Tornados.

A surprisingly sunny afternoon made for a great day to watch a match. Ginny sat in the press box with a quill and notepad. Other sports journalists and columnists were there, but she sat near the back and kept her head down until the match began.

A game program lay open in her lap to aid with names and jersey numbers. Ginny scrawled a play by play of the first fifteen minutes. She had developed a sort of shorthand to help her out, but she barely kept pace with the commentary.

"Greeves passes the Quaffle to Sorrenson, then back to Greeves. He shoots. Falcon's keeper, Anderson, dives and barely redirects the trajectory away from the goal hoop. Seekers O'Kief and Wilson seem to be circling the stadium, staying far away from each other…"

The door to the box opened, but everyone inside was too enraptured with the game to notice. Ginny felt the latecomer take the empty seat on her right and grinned smugly. Whoever this person was, they were doing a poor job at being a decent reporter. There were professional games that ended in twenty minutes. This person would undoubtedly wind up with little to write about, and he had nothing but his tardiness to blame.

"I suspect things are going better with Potter then?"

Ginny's hand slipped, trailing ink all the way to the edge of the page.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered, hoping no one would lift their heads or otherwise take note of their hushed conversation. "This box is for members of the press only."

A quick movement of his hand drew her eyes to the badge hanging from the lapel of his designer jacket. There were only five words on the small piece of identification: "Blaise Zabini" and " _The Daily Prophet_ ".

"But you aren't doing a report on the match," she pointed out. The crowd gasped and Ginny snapped her face forward. "What did I miss?"

"Greeves was hit by a Bludger coming from the big bloke on the Falcon's team, number forty two." Blaise could have been lying out of his arse for all she knew, but his level tone and lack of hesitation made her willing to believe him. She checked the roster and made appropriate notes. Her companion stayed quiet for another few minutes while Ginny made up for lost time, but the longer they sat, the more she wanted to say.

The Tornados called for a time out and Ginny sat upright before turning to look at Blaise for the first time since he arrived. "You didn't answer my question."

"You didn't answer mine."

"You didn't ask one."

"I did so," he argued. "I asked if things were going better with your husband."

Ginny blushed. He had asked, hadn't he? "They're going fine, but why would you bring it up?" She wanted to ask why he had come all the way up here to ask, but kept quiet on that one.

"You didn't use the paper I left you." Well at least now she knew it actually had been from him. "I figured you were either getting along better or didn't have anything to say. And considering I've never heard a Weasley struck speechless, I could only assume it was the former."

A whistle blew, signaling the teams back to the centre of the pitch. Why had he picked such an inopportune time to chat with her?

"Where have you been all week?" she finally asked, trying to keep one ear open to only the announcer's comments.

"I can work just as easily from my flat so long as I collect my mail every day. I just came by very early to retrieve it."

"So you've been avoiding me?" Ginny wondered if perhaps he had taken their conversation much more the wrong way than she had thought. But why would he leave the odd paper then?

There was a quiet moment between the two when Ginny realized she had stopped taking notes. She peeked over the shoulder of the witch in front of her and copied the last few plays she had written. Only then did Blaise say, "I thought you could use some time to yourself. Besides, I didn't want Potter paying you a surprise visit only to see us having an innocent conversation. As I recall, he was quick to jump to conclusions." Ginny snickered, knowing that Blaise was absolutely right.

"So this paper," she said after a few more minutes. "What exactly am I supposed to do with it?" She could tell he was looking at her and she kept her face down, her cheeks tinged a slight pink. At least she would know now rather embarrass herself if she did it wrong later.

Blaise answered simply, "You just write on it. It's a bit like a two way mirror. Whatever you write shows up on my page. When I write back to that, the first thing I wrote will disappear."

Ginny clenched her jaw and tried to relax it. She pretended to be carefully documenting the match, but her heart beat had sped up to the point that her pulse sounded in her ears. "And you have that paper with you, just in case I write back?" She tried to make it sound like a joke, but her voice shook at the end. Trying to focus on the match, writing, listening, and not breaking down at the thought of writing to Merlin only knew who was tapping all of her energies.

Sensing her distress, Blaise reached in his jacket and pulled something from the breast pocket. He held the paper out for Ginny to take, which she did, though she had to grip it tightly to keep from shaking. It was identical to the one at work. Taking a deeper breath than she had previously been able to, she passed it back, accidentally brushing his fingers.

"And you're the only one that has that? There aren't other pages?" She couldn't help being suspicious. She re-crossed her legs and fiddled with the program to keep from looking at his face.

A minute passed and Blaise made no reply. Ginny briefly wondered if she had offended him and eventually turned her head and looked him in the eye. She immediately wanted to turn away, but his gaze held her still. His dark brown eyes searched hers, perhaps asking why she was acting so skittish.

"It is." The weight the words carried left no doubt in Ginny's mind that he was being entirely honest with her. Her breathing slowed down significantly as she relaxed, yet she refused to pull away from their connection. Suddenly his eyes darted to the front of the room and he stood. He made it to the door before Ginny started to say something. Her words were drowned out by the cheer of the crowd. A man in light blue robes flew by the window with the Snitch clutched in his hand. She had missed the game ending move! The match was over, and Blaise was gone.


End file.
